


One Hour

by ShadowPorpoise



Series: Undertree [1]
Category: Dreamtale - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Broken Families, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Dreamtale, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Healing, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, No Plot/Plotless, No Romance, No Smut, POV Third Person, Present Tense, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowPorpoise/pseuds/ShadowPorpoise
Summary: Can Dream and Nightmare spend even one hour in one another's company, after all this time? What if it's separated into six intervals of ten minutes each?
Relationships: Dream & Nightmare, Dream!Sans & Nightmare!Sans, Sans & Sans (Undertale)
Series: Undertree [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694557
Comments: 19
Kudos: 139





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very new to this AU. In fact, I've never written anything for an AU before. So I do apologize if I tread on anyone's toes by overlooking something canonically important. I was really inspired when I heard this story and wanted to express my take on it. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> DreamTale, Dream!Sans, and Nightmare!Sans created by Joku  
> Ink!Sans created by Comyet
> 
> Mood music for this story if that's your thing: https://youtu.be/KqZSb2Gcc08

There is a tree on a hill. There is nothing remarkable about this particular tree, or its hill. It is not the tree of life, nor is it the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, though under its branches pass many living things who know a great deal of both. It is not the tree of mana, nor yet is it that tree of feelings, whose trunk lies fallen and rotted in a universe infinitely far from this hill. No, no, this tree is a willow. A plain, ordinary willow, in a world where many plain, ordinary things happen, though wars and rumors of wars do wreak their havoc upon it from time to time.

Neither Dream nor Nightmare have any dealings with this place, so far removed is it from their sphere of influence. And that is why they choose to meet here, in this world, where magical trees are a thing of legend and myth, and talking skeletons figure only in made-up stories or frivolous holiday traditions. Ink found the spot for them, some time ago. Beneath this ordinary tree. Where there can be no distractions. Magic itself is forbidden here, as a law of nature even these brothers cannot hope to break.

A neutral place.

But still, Dream clutches his bow in one hand beneath his cloak, more out of habit than anything else. It would be considered an old, primitive weapon here, and there is certainly nothing special about it now. He cannot even return it to its original form while within the confines of this universe, which is why he keeps it hidden. There is enough history between the two brothers without adding this offense to the mix. Besides, while Nightmare’s own abilities are greatly limited in their current surroundings, Dream is all too aware of the raw strength contained in those undulating, snake-like tentacles that even now clutch at the base of the tree, absently tracing the roots down to where they dig and tear into the earth.

Dream closes his eyes and leans back against his side of the trunk, listening to the sound of the wind in the leaves, the hiss of distant traffic, a screech from a nearby playground. Someone is laughing at a friend’s witty remark. A mother scoops up her child where he has fallen, whispering words of comfort over a scraped up knee. A squirrel skitters from one tree to the next, curling its tail up and down in brisk, playful twitches. Though the invisible strands of joy are weak and frayed, muted in this strange, closed off universe, Dream can still feel them. Bending and tugging around his core, flowing from him and to him and through him in a never ending cycle. The multiverse is silent, unable to penetrate the thickening fog of rationality that binds up this place, and the quiet did scare him at first. But now he is grounded, held firm by the flow of what meager positivity still clings to this reality, awaiting that joyous moment when he might return to the symphony of many interconnected worlds all thrumming in unison to the pulse of life and magic.

But that won’t be for another 180 seconds. Then their time will be up. Any longer than 10 minutes at once and their loss in the multiverse will be felt, the loss of _feelings_ , and already 7 have ticked by, 7 long minutes of _silence_ stretching on and on between them like an insurmountable chasm. For, of all the many interconnected webs of sentiments pulsing tenuously through Dream’s soul, not a one of them belongs to Nightmare.

He never feels anything from Nightmare.

Then, the silence is broken. The physical silence. Drawing Dream up from the meditative depths, from the deep, bottomless pool of kaleidoscopic emotion welling in his core. He is wrenched back, out to the cold grays of this place, this moment, this empty individual who is _speaking_ to him, communicating not with the vivid, spiritual thrums that emanate from the soul, but with audible words, vocally generated vibrations reverberating through the air between them, connecting and finding meaning in the interwoven webs of magical synapses that make up Dream’s consciousness.

“Welp. See you tomorrow.”

And the 10 minutes are up. Just like that. Nightmare vanishes through an instantaneous gap in space and time, too quick even for the other to catch sight of him when Dream inadvertently breaks his promise and turns. Alone on the ordinary hill beneath the ordinary tree, the designated _younger_ brother inhales sharply, closing his eyes and steeling himself to follow.

It is going to be a long six days.


	2. Day 2

Nightmare can sense his brother’s confusion and sorrow as clearly as ever, even in this gray, desolate world. Dream always seems as stumped by his own negative emotions as anyone else’s. As a child, Nightmare knew just what to do when Dream was upset or frightened. He knew because the pain, the terror, ripped through him as sharply as if they were his own. “Don’t worry,” he’d say, trying to think of a suitable pun to lighten the mood. Wrapping that damned robe more tightly around his brother’s shoulders as though it could ever be any real sort of protection for either of them, much less against the roaring thunder, the blinding lightening. Storms alone displeased Dream in those days. The darkness, the dissonance, the cold… Nightmare was in his element at such times, awake and alive. In the restless hearts that cried out to heaven with unwonted piety, praying for safety before settling back into the comfortable complacency of blissful sunshine, dreamy daylight in which the terrors of night were soon forgotten. Those who begged forgiveness in the dark usually renewed their offenses in the day. It was the way of the world. And still is. Though he can not say the same of Dream, whose sorrow lingers on be it morning or dusk, a dull ache on the edge of Nightmare’s consciousness always, alerting him to Dream’s presence, his location at any time or place.

But Nightmare does not usually pursue such signals anymore. Too long he has spent locked in fruitless combat with his counterpart, balanced on the edge of defeat, of victory. Always, they are evenly matched. There was a time when Dream might have been foolish enough to let him gain the upper hand, but those days are long gone, vanished with whatever naive notion led Nightmare to render his brother stonily impervious to even his own attacks in the first place.

No, though octopine limbs still trail along the ground behind him as he makes his way up that dismal hill for the second day in a row, he has no intention of fighting the one who waits for him on the other side. He is well aware of what Dream keeps hidden beneath that same shimmering cloak Nightmare gave him all those eons ago, a weapon lurking within the golden shroud of a remembered bond. And he doesn’t blame him one bit for it. It’s a sign of respect, in a way. A tribute to the threat Nightmare manages to pose despite the minimal access to his magic.

It’s sickening, really. The lazy, hiccuping attempts at emotion smothering this place like a wet blanket. There’s a certain familiarity to it, though he knows he can’t have set foot here before yesterday. It takes him a moment to place, that curious combination of dulled and sharpened senses. He settles himself with his back against his side of the tree, resisting again the urge to tear it up by the roots, and grimacing at the sudden wave of nerves emanating from his brother at his presence. Dream has stiffened behind him, though still his pain is contained to a muffled pang somewhere within the dark, rejected recesses of his being. And that’s when Nightmare realizes. This world, though at first glance nothing like the home they left behind, is the only place since in which their own feelings are more important, more prominent than the multitude of sensations that now plague them every second of every day. Since before they bore the burden of the others, when Dream was the _only_ other Nightmare fully recognized, when every ugly sentiment that fed into his soul was filtered through the strength of roots and trunk and leaves, muffled just as they are now on this dingy, drab hill. He glances suspiciously up into the branches of the old willow, searching for some semblance of explanation and finding none. He scowls and glances at the sun, silently calculating.

5 minutes left.

“Dream…”

A panicked jolt. Steadied out into nothing, just like that. Dream has always been good at curbing his negative instincts. Nightmare used to play a game with himself when his brother was sad or scared as a child, trying to see how quickly he could make that tendril of negativity retract. It was his only inkling, after all, into his brother’s frame of mind. He couldn’t sense the positive. He knew only that it was the absence of anything negative. The opposite of whatever _he_ was. It should come as no surprise, then, that even the sound of his voice can aggravate that flicker of pain that now lurks perpetually within the other.

All the more reason to speak up. “Knock, knock.”

Nightmare can hear the scrape of bark as his companion shifts incredulously against his side of the trunk. But he trusts Dream not to turn, this time. They usually keep their promises, the two of them. And if they slip up, they are quick to correct it.

“Who’s… there?” Dream’s voice trails off on a strained question that probably has little to do with playing his part in the joke.

“Shh.”

There is a pause, as though Dream is unsure whether this is a request or simply the next stage of the gag. In fine form, he decides to proceed under the second assumption rather than comply with the first.

“Shh who?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Silence. Ringing through the air, through the tangled web of sorrow twisting between them. Then - “Heh.” And, “Don’t you dare. Time’s not up yet.”

For the briefest of moments, Nightmare’s grimace softens into something else. But not long enough to register with the other, who is shaking with silent, relieved laughter. Dream probably couldn’t differentiate between his own amusement and another’s at this point, anyway. And though Nightmare can’t feel _that,_ he knows his brother well enough to guess that he is indeed laughing, even as that inky pool of sorrow ebbs and flows simultaneously at the unexpected interaction.

It will be a little more difficult than before, this old challenge Nightmare has once again taken upon himself. Dream isn’t so easily affected anymore, by simple efforts like this. Not at his core. Still, it might be a shade less boring that just standing here, day after day. It’s not like he has anything better to do after all, not now that he’s actually agreed to this crazy scheme.

But for today, time’s up.


	3. Day 3

Dream has already passed within the confines of their neutral universe before he realizes he neglected to equip with his bow. His staff dangles harmlessly from one bony hand as he strides up the hill under a cool mist of rain. The water hisses in the foliage as he passes beneath it, hugging his cloak a bit tighter against the cold and drawing up his hood.

He isn’t surprised to be alone. Nightmare always arrives just a bit late and leaves just a bit early, eating away at their precious time by a good thirty seconds. But Dream doesn’t complain. He is still surprised Nightmare comes at all, and especially at that curious display of levity yesterday. Some cautious part of him notes the continued absence of delight in his brother’s antics, warning him to keep up his guard, to protect himself from what will inevitably come next. Well does Dream know that faith is often more painful than hopelessness, but still he hopes, still he believes, still he _expects_ not the worst but the best, from everyone, anyone, even Nightmare, _especially_ Nightmare, the source of this unending cycle of dread and optimism, fear and trust. Dream _wants_ this to work, to get better, and so it must, or else it won’t and he’ll keep wanting it, keep looking for it to change even as he prepares for when it won’t, resigning himself once again to the dull ache of what is longed for and never attained.

And then he realizes just how many long moments have passed since he began to wait, not just today but every day for centuries, and he wonders how many more he should prepare for, and if he was a fool to believe at all, especially now when even ten minutes seems too much to ask. It is all part of the mysterious relationship between joy and sorrow when Dream wishes he could do away with the relentless tenacity of his hope if only to be rid of his despair. And, as if on cue, the source of all this confliction appears with a careless pop just behind him and to the left. With only 2 minutes to spare.

Dream whirls at the sound, hardly pausing to notice that the dark, melty figure before him has arrived without the aid of those abominable tentacles, standing alone on his own two feet beneath a never-ending flow of sludge. “Where were you?” Dream’s voice is sharp, carried on a tide of anger he is certain Nightmare feels, though the other gives no sign that he does. He grins sardonically, stuffing soiled hands into even more soiled pockets.

“Relax. Was here all the time. Well, not _here,_ but around.”

“We’re supposed to meet for 10 minutes! That was the agreement.” Dream is shaking. How could have thought, even for one moment…?

“I came, didn’t I? Just doing a little sightseeing, that’s all.” He kicks one heel on the ground, no doubt unused to remaining so still.

Dream closes his eyes briefly, gathering himself. “Did anyone see you?”

“Not till now.” Nightmare’s eyes glint.

Dream looks away sheepishly, with a halfhearted turn. “I - ”

“Nah, don’t bother. You’ve made yourself pretty clear. Though you might at least try to stifle your disgust. You’ll hurt my feelings, you know?”

Dream searches his memory for any sign of what catastrophe might have befallen this place in the past 9 minutes. But he can’t recall any telltale rushes of relief that usually accompany narrowly evaded calamities. “Did you hurt anyone?” he asks softly, half expecting Nightmare to continue on with his heartless banter.

But he doesn’t. Doesn’t ask Dream to define _hurt_ or any such usual tactic. His face sort of hardens, and his voice grows stiff with indifference. “I’ll tell you tomorrow."

He will? Dream takes a step forward as Nightmare turns away, shaking his head dismissively at the other’s feeble attempts to stop him. “I said tomorrow. Time’s up now, anyway.”

And with that he is gone again. As swiftly as he arrived.


	4. Day 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music for this chapter if that's your thing: https://youtu.be/2LxHAuAnja8

Dream wastes no time in asking about yesterday. He grasps his bow openly in both hands now, as though ready to vanquish whatever evil calamity might have befallen their borrowed universe.

Nightmare, for his part, makes no effort to hide his true form. Slimy tentacles clutch at the ground like the desperate claws of a caged animal, greedily reaching to devour its prey. What difference does it make, now? The trunk of their tree stands alone and forgotten just off to one side, and Dream doesn’t bother to turn away, staring with open, conflicted loathing at the spectacle before him. Well. Nightmare sees no reason to challenge his obvious distaste. Let him stare. Let him see what Nightmare has become, what he lives in every day, and make his judgements, his assumptions in the open as he always does. He isn’t wrong, anyway. Not usually.

“Well, I admit I was curious,” Nightmare tells him. Grinning. Always grinning. “How much I could get out of these people. If they really were as dull as they seemed.”

Dream’s hands tremble over his bow, one arrow nocked and ready on the string. Nightmare’s smile broadens as he takes it in, tracing its careful, innocuous aim to the ground between them, before raising one sludgy eyebrow at his brother. “And you wonder why we can’t get along,” he snickers.

“Never mind that now,” Dream hisses through clenched teeth. “Just tell me what you’ve done and be quick about it. We’re running out of time again.”

They always are. They haven’t made any progress, after all, during these past few days. He knew they wouldn’t. And he finds himself growing bored of their tedious exchanges. “Nothing,” he sighs, and drops his hands listlessly to his sides.

Dream seems unsure how to respond. One eye twitches. “Nothing?” he repeats blankly, still clutching at his weapon.

Nightmare shrugs, glancing out between the dangling strands of foliage at a passing car. “Just wanted to know… why it’s like this. Thought it might be valuable. Ya know? If… we could have a place like this back home. Where things are… calmer.”

He didn’t mean to say so much. He can feel the growing confusion, the melting retaliation of his companion. Unease. _Guilt_. And suddenly he doesn’t want to deal with it anymore. Doesn’t want to hear whatever clumsy remorse Dream might attempt to express in words, meaningless words that don’t begin to approach the sharp, clear communication Dream’s own soul has already betrayed. So, “Know what I found out?” Nightmare asks him instead, winking one eye-socket and not waiting for a reply. “This place had its own trees, once. Only there weren’t any guardians. So… when they messed it up, like they always do…they couldn’t hardly feel anything anymore. And that’s why… it’s so quiet around here. Well, except for you.” He grins triumphantly. “I can always feel plenty from you.”

“Of course you can.” Dream surprises him with a quick, ready response. His face has gone cold and empty. Eyes more hollow than his soul. His bow dangles harmlessly in his slackened fingers, and he doesn’t even bother to reset his hood when the wind tugs it down onto his shoulders. “How else am I supposed to feel? Should I be happy when my own brother is so miserable?”

Nightmare stares at him as their final seconds tick by. Expression similarly locked in vacant incomprehension. Then - “You did a pretty good job of it before.”

As usual, he doesn’t bother to say goodbye. To observe whatever paltry effect his words might have had. But he can feel it. Another dull throb of pain. And he’s not surprised.

It hurts because it’s true.


	5. Day 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to this one again: https://youtu.be/KqZSb2Gcc08

For once Nightmare is the first to arrive. He grins cynically at the empty space beneath the leaves. Though he hasn’t made much progress with his own personal challenge, he never figured he’d be the last one standing here, at the crown of the hill. He feels more foolish than triumphant, looking out onto the steady flow of highway traffic below. Wondering if he should wait the full ten minutes alone before going back. It’s not as though Dream can get much of a head start, in that time. Besides, he likes it here. Might keep coming even after the six days are over, if Ink lets him. But just as he’s starting to relax on his feet, drinking in the relative silence, there’s a loud pop. Dream has appeared before him, directly under the branches instead of at the bottom of the hill like he usually does.

“You’re right,” he says immediately, picking up where they left off as though no time at all has elapsed. Arms hanging defenselessly at his sides. “I didn’t know how you felt.”

Nightmare sizes him up silently. Dream hasn’t even brought his staff with him. Ironically enough, neither of them ever need to sleep. But if they did, Nightmare would venture to guess that Dream hadn’t since they met last. There’s something tired in the way he carries himself, in that area beneath his eyes. “You haven’t been doing your job,” he observes dispassionately.

Dream huffs a dry chuckle. “And you’ve been doing yours too well. As always. I can’t keep up.”

Nightmare tries not to look too pleased at this confession, instead casting his gaze back down, to the soggy earth at their feet. It’s not raining today. “Still believe you can restore the balance, huh?” he singsongs despite himself. 

“Nope.” The answer is sharp. “Not without you.” It hangs in the air between them, this simple admission that sounds so strange in his brother’s voice.

“There never was any balance.” Nightmare tells him, surprised at his own bitterness. He doesn’t want to get into this again.

“I know. I know, and I’m sorry.” Dream’s voice breaks. He’s crying again. He always cries.

Nightmare doesn’t need that tactless display of emotion. The shallow pool of sorrow even now lies smooth and undisturbed in the hollow of Dream’s soul, regardless of his outburst. “Apologies don’t mean anything to me, Dream,” he sighs resignedly. “You know that. If that’s what you’ve come to do, save it.”

“They _need_ you,” Dream gets out, sobs coming in panicky jolts. Hands clasped in supplication.

“Funny.” The word tastes foul in his mouth. “They didn’t seem to think so.” They’ve been through his whole song and dance before, but somehow Nightmare can’t seem to curb his disgust, his _revulsion_ at his brother’s tears. There’s something detestable about bringing this up again _here,_ when they were supposed to _talk_ to each other, to be honest about how they felt. Just them. Not everyone else.

Dream steadies himself with a hand to his face, and his words come clearer. “They m-may not realize it. But they do. I… I can’t do it. I can’t create… remorse. Or pain. The kind they need, to… to know something’s wrong.” He raises those golden eye-lights once again, and this time Nightmare can’t sense even a shadow of distaste in his look. “If I had known… if I had _done_ something. If I had realized you were hurting, I could have fixed it. I could have…”

Nightmare doesn’t want to know what he would have done. “Oh yeah? Then how come you go around undoing all my work?”

Dream’s face twists into something closer to his usual expression. “Because it’s _wrong_. It’s too much. I can’t… that’s not… that’s not what it’s for.”

“What is it for, then, Dream? Enlighten me. Teach me how to do my job, please.”

Dream says nothing. Just sags forlornly in his spot by the tree. Looking at nothing. Saying nothing.

Nightmare likes it that way. “You forget I’m not one of your depressed mental subjects, wandering around in search of a helping hand, a leg up onto the straight and narrow. I can feel everything you feel, the anger, the fear, the condescension,” _the bottled up grief._ “I know you don’t want it. You don’t _like_ it, when you feel that way, you try to forget it as soon as you remember. Well, I want to forget you too. So let’s just keep it that way.” And he turns on one heel, back down the path on his own, searching for the opening, the portal through which he can return, he can _leave_ and never come back.

“Wait!” The word is felt more than spoken, reverberating through every dark pathway of negativity feeding into Nightmare’s soul. The dam bursts, the pool floods, and an overwhelming grief rends through him, the kind of powerful emotion only keepers of feeling _can_ feel, fierce and vengeful from being choked down for millennia upon millennia. Nightmare staggers with the weight of it, whirling as the stale air crumples around them, unable to withstand the assault from this foreign substance, this unadulterated agony. With a muttered curse, Nightmare warps through to its source beneath that ordinary tree, which is already splitting at the seams with a crack like thunder.

“Dream - Dream, _stop._ ”

The little skeleton is shaking where he stands, eyes distant and panicked, shuddering with the weight of his own misery. He is… embracing it? Allowing it? - to consume him. And consume him it does. Were they within the confines of the multiverse, Nightmare is sure they would all be able to feel it in every corner, the shrinking of their joy, their compassion... beneath a sea of anguish.

And in this moment, cut off from all that might persuade him otherwise, Nightmare has only one instinct, a childish one from countless years gone by. He reaches out…

And Dream goes utterly silent in his arms. No, not silent. Empty. Last dregs of emotion chased away like shadows before the dawn. The air stops heaving and the cloven tree shudders into uneasy stability. Dream isn’t moving. For a moment Nightmare thinks he might have killed him, drowned him in this never-ending river of sludge. But then Dream pulls away, grasping his arms, tears not dried on his cheeks. And the grime runs off him cleanly, unable to penetrate that faint, hallowed glow. “Night, you’re - you’re happy.”

No. Not quite. But then, Dream can sense only the positive feelings. “So are you.” Nightmare says it defensively, bristling under that wondering stare.

As if on cue, the sorrow comes back, pooling again in his brother’s heart, strong but not as strong, disappointment, regret, reluctance… And Dream releases him to wipe at the neglected tears. “We have to go back.”

Oh. He had forgotten. “Nah.”Nightmare settles himself stubbornly, crosslegged on the ground. “They can survive without us another few minutes.”

“But Ink - ”

“He kept the portals open this long, he can do it a bit longer.”

“But…” Dream hesitates, no doubt trying to imagine what might happen if everyone in the multiverse were to suddenly go numb.

“Doesn’t matter. We can handle it if anything goes wrong.”

Dream sinks slowly to the ground, staring uncomprehendingly. “W…We?”

“Well yeah, it’s not like it hasn’t been worse.” Nightmare is still a bit shaken. He interlaces his fingers to still his trembling.

“Together?”

It startles him out of his reverie, that word, and… the quivering, gloved hand extended in his direction.

“Think I’ve had enough of promises,” Nightmare tells him. But he takes it. And the sorrow retreats like an outgoing tide.

Huh. That wasn’t so hard, after all.


	6. Day 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentioned child abuse.
> 
> More mood music if you want: https://youtu.be/5F0G-W3F6Jw

Nightmare disappears as soon as they cross back over. There’s a resounding boom throughout the multiverse when they return, as not only the feelings, but a tenuous balance attempts to reenter the atmosphere. Still, they have their work cut out for them. And for a moment, as Nightmare vanishes through some negative pathway or another, Dream fears he was mistaken, that he will be working alone again, that the last fifteen minutes were all just another idle daydream. And then Nightmare returns, popping up beside him out of the void, flicking excess sludge from one tentacle and grinning.

“What happened?”

“Oh, nothing. Some woman was hitting her kid. The kid wasn’t crying and the mom wasn’t stopping.”

“Oh. Oh, _no_ ,” and Dream is all prepared to dive after them, into whatever universe they might be suffering, devoid of compassion and the ability to express it. But Nightmare catches his arm before he can even begin the search.

“They’re fine. It was enough.” He releases his hold and casts his gaze up onto the other windows of reality. “There’s too many. If we start obsessing over every single one now, we’ll never catch up.”

It’s true. Even five minutes of numbness have caused a great surge of chaos to ripple throughout the multiverse. Dream sets about locating whatever traces of positivity are left, searching systematically for the easiest entrances to each world. And then he stops, catching sight of Nightmare where he scowls over his own, similar efforts. “Aren’t you coming?”

Nightmare blinks blearily up at him, and Dream recognizes that dazed look as he struggles to refocus on Dream’s words, returning grudgingly from the ghostly realm of feeling. “We have to split up,” he intones woodenly. Eyes still distant. “I’ll call you if I need help with anything.”

“But how will I find…?”

Nightmare stops him with another look. “I said I’ll call. And… I’ll come. If you do.” And with that he’s gone again, dissolved into the darkness.

True to his word, Nightmare emits a great throb of positivity in some timeline where it is hopelessly lost. “That was harder than I thought,” he puffs ruefully as Dream emerges from the pathway beside him.

“You’re just out of practice,” Dream tells him, blinking back the sudden, overwhelming emotion pricking at his eyes. It’s been so long since he felt anything like that amount of joy from Nightmare, even if it was intentionally conjured. But he steels himself for the task at hand. The multiverse needs him. Needs both of them. And their combined effort is all the more reason to put his best foot forward.

They are both greatly wearied when things start to settle. A delicate calm hovers over the interwoven galaxies, even as residual disturbances heave beneath the surface, simmering attempts at a boil. But their time is up, the portal is forming, and Dream wants to meet again under that old, ordinary willow.

“Why, though? We’re already…” Friends? Allies? But Nightmare doesn’t finish his sentence and Dream is left to wonder. Or, not. He takes his brother’s hand, ignoring the instinctive flinch, and drags them both through the opening.

An instantaneous, comforting serenity envelopes them as they emerge into the nothingness of that place. Nightmare tugs his hand free and Dream folds his own before him, closing his eyes under the branches. Nightmare is shifting away, easing to the ground somewhere off to the left. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters here, in this heady calm, but the beating of their own hearts, the pulse of whatever they might want to feel or think about, without even a glancing nag from the universe they left behind. Dream fights the sudden urge to laugh.

“What is so funny,” Nightmare grumbles, drawing the other up out of his musings.

“I… don’t know.” But he’s giggling and he can’t stop.

“No? Thought you were the expert on happiness. Or aren’t you happy?”

Dream tilts his head quizzically. Nightmare isn’t looking at him, but Dream can tell it isn’t a flippant question. The other is clearly puzzling over something, muddy brows scrunched low over the voids of his eyes, arms folded almost petulantly before him. Inky tentacles hover at his back, dipping and weaving now and again to glance over the grass, the tree behind him.

“Yes. I am happy.” Can’t he tell?

Nightmare turns, studying his brother intently. “Oh.”

All at once Dream understands. He lowers himself too, sitting down a respectful couple of feet from the other. “Yeah. It’s okay. It’s… It’s the good kind.”

“I see.”

They don’t say anything more.

**Author's Note:**

> **There is now a sequel to this work, if you are interested:[Five More Minutes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23546314/chapters/56480626)**


End file.
